Returning Red

Prologue

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Songs and characters are used for reference and imagination purposes only.

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To everyone who sacrifices a little too much of themselves for the ones they love.

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NEW YORK - 4 years ago

Isabella

session 01/06

The yellow couch I sit on is bright and soft. The 4 pm sunlight that's about 102°F casually warms the whole room up. My fingers begin to rhythmically dance on the armrest of the yellow couch. I hug myself in order to make my fingers restlessly give off too much about my anxiousness. I look around the room and I observe how there's not one space left uncovered. The wooden shelves with a mini-library of books, photo frames with positive affirmations, a wall that has a coffee cup collection, there are tiny carpets on top of carpet flooring which seems odd to me and everything in the room looks like someone who has developed an OCD like me has arranged it. I don't feel the need to get up and color coordinate the books or the coffee cups because it's already done-so internally calming.

I lick my lips and look down as I bite my lower lip. The woman sitting in front of me intimidates me. Her turtle-neck bodycon dress covers all her skin until her knees. Her skin-colored stockings take over after that. Her brown heels match her brown bodycon dress and the two brown rings on her hands apart from her wedding ring catch my eyes. Her ears have the smallest rose gold studs and her hair cushions around her neck and fall inches further from her shoulders. Her dark blonde hair highlights her perfectly spotless skin. Her forest green eyes stare at my fidgeting fingers before she looks back at the notepad on her lap and ticks something with her matt black pen. She looks sorted out in life. The way she smiles and meets my eye contact without pulling it back tells me how confident she as a person is. Which, in other words, makes me feel less confident.

"Okay," she clears her throat, "What's your name?"

I'm confused as I glance at my admission form which is in her hands. Without making it obvious and without seeming rebellious, I tell her anyway, "Bella."

"Full name,"

"Uh, Isabella Nicole Cosmo,"

"Hi Isabella, I am Dr. Katherine Carlyle, Katherine with a K and Carlyle with a C," she smiled. I nodded without meeting her gaze. "But you can call me Kate."

My eyes glance towards the door and my instinct advises me to trust it, grab my backpack and run away. Run far away and never turn back to this place.

"You can call me, uh, Bella," I mutter softly.

My hands have gotten cold. I can mentally picture them losing color but I look at them to confirm it anyway. My palms have paled and my knuckles are white. My lips have dried and I've bitten them too many times already. My throat feels dehydrated and something in me tells me this was a bad idea.